


Extensive Care

by culturecoded



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Talentswap (Dangan Ronpa), Attempted Murder, Character Death, Character Development, Correct Romanization, Dialogue Heavy, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Gen, Honorifics, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Murder, Sexual Humor, Suicidal Thoughts, family name before given name, not too much but hoshi is there so, ships will not be a main focus but they will still probably be mentioned, thanks miu, these kids are edgy, trigger warnings will be added as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-07-11 10:48:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19926847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/culturecoded/pseuds/culturecoded
Summary: Hope's Peak Academy, against all odds, has been compromised. Amami Rantarou wakes up in an infirmary surrounded by other Ultimates, and the weight of the situation hits harder than the fatigue that crippled him in the first place. // Danganronpa talentswap/rewrite, where the cast of NDRV3 wakes up in Hope's Peak.





	1. Prologue, Part 1

Hope’s Peak Academy. The name was known throughout the world as the future of Japan, the brightest of its youth concentrated into a single area built to help them thrive. Prestigious was an understatement; the school was so elite, students with potential to become Ultimates had to be scouted by professors and professionals. The process of choosing students has never been clear, but regardless, Ultimates are the absolute best at whatever they do. Some may be musical, such as the Ultimate Violinist. Others may be athletic, like the Ultimate Gymnast.

Amami Rantarou was the Ultimate Fashionista, a title given to him for his media influence, sealing his place in the hearts of young people all over the world. His rise to fame stemmed from his social media, which grew seemingly overnight; from there, he was frequently approached by modelling companies, magazines, and, eventually, Hope’s Peak Academy. His face was not unknown, and he was well aware of this. 

So why, in spite of his confidence, did the floor sway under his feet the moment he entered the Academy walls? Why did he wake in an empty classroom with a headache strong enough to split his skull? 

Rantarou rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Some primal part of his mind had sewn a wire of panic under his skin, screaming run, get out, this place is dangerous, you will die if you stay here, but his legs felt as if they had been filled with lead, grounding him to the dusty floor. Even tilting his head, raising his eyes to look at the clock, tapping his fingers against the desk felt like it sapped his strength. 

Even so, he was late for the opening ceremony, so he had to get moving. 

Before he reached the gym, however, he bumped into someone, sending him sprawling on the floor with an “oof”. The back of his head connected with the carpet, and stars flickered in his eyes.

“Ah, jeez, I’m sorry, I’m sorry— Oh my gosh, Amami Rantarou? I’m a huge fan! Here, lemme…”

Rantarou didn’t get a chance to hear the rest of the sentence before his vision swam yet again and consciousness slipped through his grip.

\---

When he woke again, he was in a hospital bed, surrounded by three people. He blinked, not expecting the company, or the unfamiliar faces. None of them realized he was awake yet, so he took the opportunity to observe.

Two people sat by his side. One was asleep with her chin in her hand, blonde hair in a ponytail. The other was looking at his own fidgeting hands, and Rantarou absentmindedly wondered how he was able to see with both his hair and his hat obscuring his face. Another person was facing away from Rantarou, reading the labels of several multicolored liquids. 

Apparently, the boy had noticed Rantarou’s awakening, and he nudged the girl beside him. 

The girl straightened up immediately, eyes wide. She seemed oddly familiar, but Rantarou couldn’t put his finger on why. “Amami-kun, I’m so sorry for bumping into you, I wasn’t looking forward, I should’ve—“

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, I wasn’t looking either. No hard feelings.” Rantarou assured, lifting his arms in mock surrender. He noted how much lighter his body felt as he moved. “How long have I been out?”

The person examining the labels turned to him, concern crossing her face. “Roughly 29 hours. How are you feeling now?”

Rantarou moved his arms in a circular motion as if to demonstrate. “A lot better than I felt when I first woke up. What’d you put in me?”

“Nothing. We checked your vitals periodically and put a damp washcloth on your face, but other than that, no procedures were performed. I was actually looking for a stimulant to wake you, but it looks like that won’t be necessary.” She smoothed her apron with her hands. “Toujou Kirumi, Ultimate Nurse. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The girl with the ponytail straightened her back. “Oh right! I’m Akamatsu Kaede, Ultimate Moral Compass. It’s nice to meet you!” 

Oh, that’s why she looked familiar. Akamatsu’s reputation was spotless; as the president of the morals committee, the hall monitor of her old school, and next in line to become the Prime Minister of Japan, one might consider her overqualified for her Ultimate title.

The boy next to Akamatsu leaned in close to her ear, whispering something Rantarou couldn’t hear. Akamatsu shook her head quickly, muttering something close to “not yet”. She nudged him with her elbow, and he sputtered.

“Oh, uh, right. I’m Saihara Shuuichi, uh, Ultimate Writing Prodigy, but…” he fidgeted with his hands, letting the sentence fall.

Saihara’s name rung a bell. If Rantarō recalled correctly, he was the author of a bestselling murder-mystery novel known for its thrilling storyline and lovable cast of characters. It was a huge hit, so why did he doubt himself?

“But…?” Rantarou prompted.

Saihara averted his eyes. “But, I’ve… I’ve only written, like, one novel, and it wasn’t even that good… anyone can do that.”

Akamatsu put her hands on her hips. “That is not something anyone can do!”

“Indeed. One of my recurring patients requested I read your novel to him every day. We both loved it. One of my favorite books, truly,” Toujou said while moving to Rantarou’s side to check his vitals.

Unprepared with a response, Saihara pulled his hat down, face reddening. His posture screamed insecure; the way his shoulders tensed when he made eye contact with Akamatsu made Rantarou want to give him a hug. Akamatsu, however, didn’t seem to notice, simply flashing him a wide smile.

The elephant in the room clearly wouldn’t reveal itself. Rantarou had the unnerving feeling of being left out of important information, like he was a side character in his own story. Like the three kindhearted people in the room with him were purposely keeping something from him. He couldn’t trust them. At least, not fully.

“How much do you know?” was the question that came out of his mouth.

The three glanced at each other and back at Rantarou. Akamatsu was the first to speak up. “What do you mean?”

He laced a bit of force into his tone. “An Ultimate wakes up in a classroom he’s never been in before. Then, suddenly, he passes out, and wakes up in an infirmary totally fine a day later, surrounded by three other Ultimates. No adult has come to the scene. And you three clearly know more than I do. So. What happened?”

Saihara tugged at his shirt collar. “We, we didn’t really know how to tell you, but… We’ve been kidnapped. Sort of. We’re trapped in this school.”

Rantarou couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of the statement. “Well, that much is obvious. Anything else?”

“Some weird bear came up and told us to kill each other and no one knows what’s happening and I miss my sister and everyone seems to hate each other and—“

“Akamatsu-san, Akamatsu-san, please try to calm down.” Toujou put a comforting hand on Akamatsu’s shaking shoulder. “Monokuma left him a video on his Monopad, right? Show him that, it’ll be much easier.”

Akamatsu nodded, reaching into her backpack and pulling out a black-and-white tablet. “The bear gave this to me. It’s yours. He told me to give it to you when you woke up.”

The tablet was lightweight and smaller than a notebook. Oddly convenient, considering the circumstances. He clicked a button, and the display glowed with his name in both kanji and anglicized letters. How high tech can a kidnapping get?

The screen went black for a second before glowing again, this time with a video display. None of Rantarou’s acquaintances had lied; there really was a bear, albeit a stuffed one, holding a wine glass in one paw and a lollipop in the other. It was split down the middle, with a black and a white side. Its black eye was dull and stitched into the fabric, whereas the red eye was mechanical and glowing, set deep into the inner workings of the bear. It spoke, and Rantarou jumped in surprise.

“Why, hello there, Amami Rantarou! I am Monokuma, the headmaster of this academy! How’d you sleep? Eh, don’t answer that, I don’t really care. What’s important is that you’re better now and you’re able to move around and stuff. Congrats! Now you can participate in the killing game!” It cackled obnoxiously. “That’s right! You are stuck here with 15 other Ultimates. The only way to get out is to kill one of your classmates. That’s how you become the Blackened! If everyone else finds out you’re the Blackened, you’ll get executed. If you get away with it, you pass! And everyone else gets executed in your place! Sounds fair, right?” Its claws drummed on the table in front of it. “It doesn’t matter if it’s fair or not, because it’s how it’ll work. Now that that’s out of the way, go meet your new classmates! Just don’t get too attached, because they’ll be dying soon!”

And with that, the video cut, and the screen went black, leaving the four in a stunned silence.


	2. Prologue, Part 2 (END): Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rantarou meets the rest of his new classmates.

Akamatsu was the one to break the silence. “Jeez, that’s the second time I’ve heard that and I still don’t believe it,” she said with a forced laugh. Even if her words were a bit strained and shaking, Rantarou still admired her courage. The video stunned him, leaving his words an inch too far away for him to grasp.

“You should, ah, probably obey what Monokuma says and go introduce yourself. He doesn’t like it when we defy him, we learned that the hard way.” Saihara glanced at Akamatsu for a split second, and Rantarou wondered what the kindhearted girl could have done. Saihara took a deep breath and continued. “Everyone should, should be in the dining hall for lunch. Well, most of them. Some of them don’t really like eating with everyone else…”

Toujou brushed her knuckles against Rantarou’s forehead one last time, and he smelled a very faint trace of rubbing alcohol. “Can you walk there on your own, or should I support you?”

Rantarou swung his legs over the side of his bed. “I’ll be okay, but thank you, Toujou-san. I’ll tell you if I need anything, yeah?”

“Of course. Just… watch what you say around them, they’re an excitable group of people. Don’t let your guard down, not for anyone,” Toujou said, her eyes quickly darting between Akamatsu and Saihara before settling on a bottle on the countertop. 

The message was simple, and Rantarou nodded, taking a mental note, before quickly leaving the infirmary.

—-

Toujou’s warning was not to be taken lightly; the dining hall was charged with tension, as if one wrong word would send the room into chaos. At the source of it seemed, oddly enough, to be a small boy with black-purple hair, feet propped lazily on the end of the long, narrow table. The other students sat as far away from him as possible, some glancing at him every so often, as if checking on a sedated animal to ensure it was still docile. Rantarou wondered why the others were so avoidant of such an innocent-looking boy.

He got his answer quite quickly.

“Hang on, hang on,” the boy said as Rantarou sat down beside him. “Before you say anything, try to throw this grape into my mouth.”

Rantarou paused. “I— Why?”

“Sh! I said ‘before you say anything’. Just do it, Amami-chan.” He rolled a grape across the table, opening his mouth wide. The boy reminded Rantarou of one of his sisters (the sixth youngest, and the most childish), and he decided to humor the boy. Why not? 

With a gentle toss, the grape landed in the boy’s mouth, and Rantarou laughed at the way his eyes lit up in pleasant surprise. “Now will you tell me who you are?”

The boy chewed the grape obnoxiously for a few seconds before answering. “Maaaaybe I will, maaaaybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll give you a fake name and identity, and you’ll have no way of knowing.” He tossed another grape in the air and caught it in his mouth. “You don’t have that privilege, do you? Everyone knows who you are, so you can’t hide. At least, not for long.”

Rantarou processed that for a second. “I guess you’re right, but what’s the problem with that? It’s not like I have anything, like, awful to hide.”

If Rantarou had blinked, he would’ve missed the way the boy’s face blanked for a split second before recovering a cheery expression. “Well, that’s not true, Amami-chan. Everyone has something to hide, whether they believe it or not. And it’s my job to uncover those things that people hide. Ouma Kokichi, Ultimate Clairvoyant, at your service,” he said with a flourish of his cape.

“Clairvoyant?”

“Oh yeah, I tell people’s futures and interpret dreams and stuff. In fact,” Ouma began, eyes lighting up again, “I’m part of an organization full of clairvoyants shunned by society. But it’s a secret, so don’t tell anyone. If you do, I’ll have to kill you!”

“Kill me…?”

“Oh, just kidding, that was a lie. I’ll read the deepest darkest secrets of your mind and tell everyone!”

“That would kinda suck.”

“Oh, so you are hiding something?”

“Aren’t you?”

Ouma laughed obnoxiously. “Touché, Amami-chan. You should probably introduce yourself to everyone else now. You’re getting weird stares.”

Sure enough, as Rantarou glanced around the room, several other students quickly turned their backs to him, whispering to each other. A common occurrence for him, but it felt… different, somehow, as if everyone was leaving him out of a joke. 

Other than Ouma, only one person sat completely alone, engrossed in a thick book. Rantarou set his chair across from the person, whose eyes didn’t lift from the book. In fact, Rantarou wasn’t sure if the person was even awake; he was inhumanly still apart from one of his thumbs, which tapped rhythmically on a page. 

Rantarou decided the other wouldn’t escape his textbook unless prompted, so he cleared his throat. “Hey, what are you reading?”

The other lifted his face, and Rantarou had to fight back a gasp. A veil covered the lower half of his face, showing only his eyes, which were narrow and reptilian. There was no mistaking that this person was not human. Even in his movement —the way he closed the book and set it on the table, or how he clasped his metal fingers in his lap— was practiced, very close to human but not quite.

“Oh,” he began, synthetic voice raised in surprise, as if he couldn’t believe someone actually wanted to talk to him. “It’s about the ancient American civilizations. It’s full of beautiful cultures and traditions, don’t you agree?”

“I don’t really know much about the American civilizations, if I’m being honest,” Rantarou said. “Maybe you can teach me about them sometime? It’s really interesting, but I just never got around to researching it for myself.”

The other’s eyes lit up (quite literally). “I would love to. You are Amami Rantarou, the model, yes?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Not to be rude, but you don’t seem like someone who would know me.”

“Professor Shinguuji always bought your magazines. She loved you.” The other tipped his hat slightly. “I am K1-Y0, but please, call me Kiyo. They call me the Ultimate Robot. Pleased to meet you, Amami-kun.”

“Pleased to meet you too,” Rantarou smiled, deciding not to comment on the fact that Kiyo’s a robot, for the sake of both politeness and staying on his good side. Kiyo inclined his head, and Rantarou swore he could see a smile in the robot’s eyes as he moved to another table.

The three girls at the next table over were facing away from the rest, so Rantarou had a moment or two to observe before they noticed him. One of the girls had an enormous hat that flopped downwards over her red hair. The two girls beside her were crowding around her, fawning over something on the table.

Before Rantarou had the chance to introduce himself, the girl on the left reeled backwards, arms forward in a defensive stance. “Hang on, Yumeno-chan, a degenerate is coming to steal your creation!”

Now that she was facing him, he recognized the loud girl as Chabashira Tenko, the Ultimate Photographer. She had refused to let him model for her about a year back, which caused something of a controversy. Everyone started calling her a misandrist afterwards, which Rantarou personally thought was absurd.

The girl in the middle —Yumeno, apparently— pouted. “Nyeh… Don’t call him that, it’s objectifying.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Rantarou said.

Yumeno huffed. “I meant the rabbit...”

Rantarou put his hands in front of himself, mocking surrender. “I just came to say hey, I’m sorry for scaring you. Is everything okay—“

“Nyahaha!” The girl to Yumeno’s right, who had been quiet until that moment, bounced in her seat. “God has brought you back from the dead! How lucky you are!”

“I guess I am pretty lucky.” Rantarou smiled. “I recognize Chabashira-san, but who are you two?”

Yumeno cleared her throat. When she spoke, her tone was low and flippant, the rehearsed words ringing hollow. “Attention attention, one and all. Feast your eyes on Yumeno Himiko, the Ultimate Medium.” A beat passed. “But officially, she is known as the Ultimate Programmer.”

“Ultimate Medium?” Rantarou prompted.

“Nyeh… I make vessels for the wandering souls that can’t pass onto the afterlife.” She yawned. “But everyone thinks I just make AI’s.” While she spoke, she set something on the table. It was a small mechanical rabbit, which sniffed in what Rantarou could only describe as annoyance.

Chabashira clapped. “I believe you, Yumeno-chan!”

The other girl smiled. “And I am Angie Yonaga, the Ultimate Gambler! God is happy we met, Amami-kun.”

“Tell him I said thank you,” Rantaro said. Angie beamed at that, and he couldn’t help but smile back as he moved to another table.

The two people sitting at the next table were so strikingly different it almost gave Rantarou whiplash. One was at least six feet tall, with hair so long and wild it was more of a blanket. The other could pass as a child based on his short stature and round, soft face. His eyes were half-closed, as if the effort to keep them open was too much for him to bear.

“Oh, new friend!” the taller said as Rantarou sat next to the shorter, leaning on one elbow. “Gonta glad to meet you all. You seem like nice people.” The shorter scoffed, but didn’t respond.

“You seem like a nice person too!” Rantarou said, and he meant it. “Both of you do. I’m Amami Rantarou, what are your names?”

The shorter took his toothpick out of his mouth. “Hoshi Ryouma. They used to call me the Ultimate Inventor. Never thought I’d see the day where I met a model in real life.” 

Rantarou recalled a series of news articles relating to Hoshi Ryouma, the inventor that “went rogue” against some of the most dangerous yakuza in the country. They criticized him for abusing his gift; he had invented specific weapons for each yakuza he killed, which lead the police to him quite quickly. He had been arrested without much trouble, but clearly Hope’s Peak had let him off somehow.

“Name…? Oh! Right! Gonta ia Gokuhara Gonta, Ultimate Soldier!” the taller said, pushing round glasses up his nose. Rantarou blinked, caught off guard. Hoshi gave him a look that plainly said yeah, I know, don’t question it. “Hoshi-kun say you are… ‘model’? What is model?” Gokuhara continued, eyes wide with curiosity. 

Rantarou decided to go with it. Never know what someone’s been through. “I’m a fashion model, so people ask me to advertise their clothes. Recently I’ve been mostly modeling my own, though,” he said, scratching his neck.

Gokuhara nodded. “Like in mag-of-zeen,” he said with the certainty of a professor.

With a faint smile, Hoshi patted Gokuhara’s enormous forearm. “Never change, Gokuhara.”

The two were an odd pair, but the two at the next table were even stranger. The girl caught Rantarou’s eye immediately; her outfit was incredibly flashy (though it seemed like it had originally been a normal sailor’s uniform) and what seemed to be modified glasses connected to an elastic pink headband. She was examining a small boy, who was flushing bright red and stammering.

“Hey, Amami, get your ass over here,” the girl said, prodding at the boy’s arms. She seemed to be enjoying herself. “Doesn’t this guy have the cutest costume?”

The boy put his head in his hands, white hair falling over his forehead. Rantarou couldn’t deny it, his costume was… seriously adorable. At first glance, it seemed like a simple schoolboy uniform, but the black blazer was iridescent, catching the light at different angles and reflecting them in beautiful color. A bright blue tie accentuated his eyes and stood out from the rest of the dark clothing. On top of it all was a beautifully flowing black cape with a shimmering underside, as if it were coated in stardust.

“Earth to Amami. Quit ogling the kid. He’s already got me lookin’ after him,” the girl said, poking his arm. The boy stammered incomprehensibly.

Realization hit, and Rantarou snapped his fingers. “Iidabashi Kiibo, right? Ultimate Magician?”

Iidabashi nodded, grateful for the distraction. “It’s nice to meet you, Amami-kun,” he said with a broad smile. 

The girl huffed, clearly annoyed at being the one left out. “Hey, over here! No one’s gonna acknowledge Iruma Miu, the world famous Ultimate Cosplayer? You must’ve heard of me, right?”

Rantarou nodded. “Yeah, I’ve heard of you, I just didn’t put a face to the name. I’m sorry for offending you, Iruma-san.”

Instantly, Iruma turned bright red, tripping over her words. “Y-Yeah… You better be sorry… Hm…”

Iidabashi glanced at Rantarou with a look of “I cannot believe this girl” plastered all over his face, and Rantarou snorted. When Iidabashi spoke, his voice was soft. “Iruma-san, what did you need with me?”

Iruma quickly perked up. “Oh, I was lookin’ at your costume. It’s so beautiful, I was wonderin’ if I could take a… a closer look at it,” she said, salivating. Iidabashi curled into himself, eyes round with fear. Noticing his discomfort, Iruma backed off slightly, putting her hands on her hips. “‘S nothing like that. Since you’re a magician and all, you might need different costumes for different performances. I could take your measurements and make shit for ya, if ya want.”

Eyes widening, Iidabashi nodded. “Oh, I’d like that very much! I’ve had some ideas for costumes, but I haven’t gotten around to a tailor or anything—“

“Ya won’t need a tailor, Houdini, ya got me! I’ll make the… best costumes for you,” she said with a giggle. Something about her tone made Rantarou somewhat worried for Iidabashi, but he looked like he could handle the eccentric cosplayer.

The two at the next table over seemed like the most normal in the group. Someone with long hair and round glasses was attempting a pleasant conversation with a very uncomfortable person with purple hair combed directly upwards, seemingly defying gravity. Rantarou sat next to them, curious as to what was making the person so uncomfortable.

“And so, that’s why Sakura is the most useless character in the anime, and I’ve killed her off more times than I can count,” the girl was saying, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“Uh, that’s really interesting…” the other said, scratching his goatee. As soon as his eyes landed on Rantarou, he lit up with relief. “Oh, hey, dude, hello! Nice to meet you! My name’s Momota Kaito, Ultimate Lucky Student! What’s yours?”

The girl gasped far more loudly than necessary. “You mean to say you don’t know Amami-kun? How? He’s on, like, every magazine in the world!”

Rantarou scratched his neck. “Well, that’s an exaggeration…”

Momota shrugged, sending one of his sleeves flying. “Magazines aren’t really my thing. Neither is fashion, really. Too girly for me. Are you, like, a celebrity or something?”

“Kinda? I mean, I get recognized on the street, but it’s not like I’m popular enough to get discounts at restaurants or anything.”

“That’s cool, man, you do you,” Momota said with a thumbs-up.

Annoyed at being left out, the girl pushed her glasses up her nose dramatically. “It’s really nice to meet you, Amami-kun. I’m Shirogane Tsumugi, Ultimate Fanfiction Creator. It’s not as impressive as Ultimate Fashionista, though…”

What is it with writers and feeling inferior? Rantarou thought to himself. “I’d love to read your writing, Shirogane-san. You write based on anime, right? I think I might’ve heard of you before, but I’m not totally sure.”

“Well, I am quite forgettable,” Shirogane said, brushing the front of her shirt. “I write from anything fiction. And before you ask, no, I don’t write fanfiction about real life people! That’s destroying the concept of fanfiction itself! Fanfiction is about building onto a creator’s fictional world and making it unique! People that write fanfiction about people from real life make me sick!”

Rantarou glanced at Momota, whose eyes were wide in terror, as if he was watching Shirogane turn into the Hulk. He coughed. “I, I agree, Shirogane.” She crossed her arms and leaned back, as if the rant had tired her out.

“Hey, I thought the bear —Monokuma, was it?— said there were sixteen people here. Counting myself and the people in the infirmary, there’s only fifteen that I can see,” Rantarou said, putting a finger to his chin.

Momota sighed, glancing around the room. “Harukawa. She doesn’t like eating with the rest of us for whatever reason. She’s probably wandering the hallways again. Honestly, don’t even bother talking to her, she’ll just threaten to kill you.”

“I think I’ll take my chances,” Rantarou said, already heading towards the door. He could feel several pairs of eyes on his back, but he didn’t care. Harukawa, whoever she was, deserved allies as much as everyone else in the group.

Eventually, Rantarou found her sitting in an empty classroom, reading a book with an apple in her mouth. As soon as he entered the room, her eyes locked onto his, as if she were expecting him. “What are you doing here?” she said, her words sharp as steel.

“Just saying hi,” Rantarou assured, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I thought I’d introduce myself. My name is—“

“Amami Rantarou, Ultimate Fashionista, yeah, I know. The kids love your magazines for whatever reason. You’re one of the few models I’ve met that looks the same without makeup on,” she said, her eyes never leaving his face.

Without… makeup? Intrigued, Rantarou brushed his lip, and sure enough, the lipgloss he had applied that morning had vanished. He wiped his eyelids quickly, but his fingertips came back clean. 

“What, are you surprised you don’t have makeup on?” Harukawa said, a cynical amusement lacing her tone.

“I put some on this morning,” Rantarou said, eyebrows knitted in confusion. Sure, Toujou and the others could have removed his makeup in the infirmary, but… why?

Harukawa’s eyes narrowed, assessing the situation. “I believe Akamatsu mentioned she wasn’t wearing a ponytail this morning. That can’t be a coincidence.”

Almost in disbelief, Rantarou touched his lips again. She’s right, but what could that possibly mean? He didn’t have enough time to think about it, though, because the bear from the video rounded the corner with a cackle.

“Hey, kids! I have a special announcement for everyone! Check out your Monopads real quick! Toodles!” it said before spinning on its feet and disappearing into thin air.

Harukawa broke the silence. “I don’t think I told you my name. Harukawa Maki, Ultimate Child Caregiver.” She brushed a long strand of hair out of her face before pulling her Monopad out of the inside of her leather jacket. “I guess we don’t have a choice. Check yours too.”

Not wanting to aggravate the girl (who he could tell was not a child caregiver, but he decided the matter wasn’t important at the moment), Rantarou took out his Monopad and booted it up. It took a second or two to load, but the message displayed before his own name.

There is a traitor among you. They know everything about every single one of their 15 classmates. If a murder does not occur in the next few days, the traitor will take action.

Do not trust each other. Watch your own back, or die trying. 

When Rantarou’s eyes left the screen, Harukawa had vanished. In the distance, he could hear chaos breaking out in the cafeteria. If he listened hard enough, he would hear Akamatsu raise her voice in an attempt to calm the raging, terrified students.

As if in a daze, he left the classroom and headed straight for his dorm.

The bed was undeniably very comfortable. A toolbox lay on the dresser beside him, which was filled with his own clothes. In the bathroom, a small vanity had been laid out, with his favorite makeup arranged the exact way he liked it. As if he had already been here to arrange his dorm. Did his kidnappers truly know him that well? Did the traitor? How could the traitor know him if he had never met any of these people in real life, only in social media?

In his mind's eye, Rantarou recalled the bear’s words. The only way to get out is to kill one of your classmates. Would someone really do that? How could Monokuma expect someone to actually go through with that? And yet, as his mind wandered to his life back home, his parents, the sisters he’s left… He can’t say the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. Some primal, repressed part of him shrieked, clawing at his brain to escape, escape, escape.

That part of him wouldn’t be silenced so easily, as jagged and ugly as it was. It was only a matter of time before it sliced through his consciousness and became the only thing on his mind. Escape, escape, escape. Kill, kill, kill.

He locked his door with a click and threw himself onto his bed, curling into himself. Tears pricked in the back of his eyes. Every inch of his skin burned, crying for him to do something, anything, to escape. A laugh escaped his lips. The burning under his skin was only proof he was beginning his slow descent into following the bear’s instructions. Madness.

That is how Amami Rantarou fell asleep for the second time in the cursed academy: terrified at the madness to which he was succumbing, yet with a smile still twisting his lips.

{End of Prologue. Start of Chapter 1: A Room Full of Mirrors}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait!! life got in the way ;; hopefully i’ll be more consistent in uploading, but no promises


	3. Chapter 1 START: Daily Life 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> free time events!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I had to take leave of my senses  
> To call my own conclusion  
> Had to swing for the fences  
> To find my own solution  
> In a world gone mad, it's all so sad  
> Look what we've become  
> Welcome to the age of the new revolution"  
> -Shinedown, EVOLVE

{MONOPAD: AMAMI RANTAROU}

{MAP}  
{TRUTH BULLETS}  
{ITEMS (2)}  
{REPORT CARDS (16)}  
{RULES & REGULATIONS (9)}  
{MESSAGES (1)}  
{SETTINGS}

> ITEMS  
Monopad  
Silver Rings

> RULES AND REGULATIONS  
ABSOLUTELY NO HARM is to be caused to the Headmaster. Attempting to damage Monokuma will result in immediate expulsion.  
When a murder occurs, all surviving students, including the Blackened, will participate in a Class Trial. If the Blackened is exposed, they will be punished. If the Blackened is guessed incorrectly, everyone besides the Blackened will be punished and the Blackened will be allowed to Graduate.  
Some areas, including the dining hall, are closed at night time. Any attempt to enter these areas at night time will result in a punishment.  
Entering or attempting to enter restricted areas is strictly forbidden.  
Tampering with a Monopad is strictly forbidden.  
Using another student’s Monopad is strictly forbidden.  
Sleeping anywhere aside from the dorms is strictly forbidden, except in the case of injury, being knocked unconscious, fainting, etc.  
Rules and regulations can be added or edited by Monokuma at any time, but they cannot be removed.  
Punishments are delivered as Monokuma sees fit.

>MESSAGES (1)  
New message from AKAMATSU KAEDE

{AKAMATSU KAEDE: Hey, are you okay? You haven’t been out of your room in a while, I just wanted to check on you. If you need to talk, I’m here :)}

Rantarou checked the time. He’d been asleep for around five hours; no wonder Akamatsu was worried. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he typed out a quick response, deciding to be forward for once.

{AMAMI RANTAROU: yeah, sorry i kinda freaked out after reading that announcement :/ i would like to talk if that’s okay with you, there’s a lot on my mind rn}

Her response came almost immediately, as if she were waiting for him to answer.

{AKAMATSU KAEDE: That’s totally fine! I’m next door so I’ll just go to your room lol}

Sure enough, a few seconds later, three quick knocks rang through Rantarou’s room. Akamatsu’s white gakuran was so pristine it almost strained his tired eyes. Concern crossed her face immediately, violet eyes evaluating his condition. “Amami-kun, are you sure you’re alright?”

Rantarou shut the door behind her and flopped on his bed. “No, Akamatsu-san, I’m really not sure,” he said with a dry laugh. “It’s seriously hard to stay fine in this situation, I don’t know how you do it.”

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?” Akamatsu said, setting her backpack beside the door. “Well, I’ve got just the thing! Tell me about whatever you want. I’ll listen to anything, and I won’t tell anyone. Monokuma said these walls are soundproof, so no one else will hear. I swear it’ll stay between us.” Her eyes betrayed no signs of lying, the smile crossing her face seemed sincere.

“Well, you are the Ultimate Moral Compass, so I wouldn’t expect you to lie to me.” Rantarou stretched his arms, running his tongue over his piercing (a nervous habit he picked up from one of his sisters, and the memory sat uncomfortably between his ribs). “It’s… just a lot to process. There’s still a part of me that, like, won’t stop denying all this. I seriously admire your positivity, Akamatsu-san.”

The smile on Akamatsu’s face widened, her eyes scrunching at the corners. If Rantarou didn’t know better, he would assume her head was in the clouds, denying it all. (But there was a certain glint in her eyes that told him otherwise; something dark, twisted, and he chalked it up next to fear, but he couldn’t be sure.) 

Her voice was pleasant, melodic, like a piano played by an expert. “Well, all this positivity would be useless if I didn’t use it for good! I just want to make sure you’re feeling okay. As okay as possible. Pessimism leads to anxiety, and in an environment like this…” She shuddered at the implication, leaving the sentence hanging in the air. “I’ll make sure that won’t happen.”

“That shouldn’t be your responsibility,” Rantarou said as Akamatsu sat beside him on the bed. “You shouldn’t have to babysit a bunch of high schoolers in a situation like this.” 

It crossed his mind, right at that moment, that he was a bit of a hypocrite. In his mind’s eye, he saw his sisters, smiling and shouting playfully at each other, and something in his chest burned with the need to see them again, regret stoking an angry flame in his gut. He thought about the years he’s spent blaming himself for it all, and in that moment, he sympathized with Akamatsu. 

She frowned a little, her eyebrows drawing together in deep concentration. “Amami-kun, I need to protect everyone. It’s not my choice, it’s… it’s almost like instinct. Being a Moral Compass isn’t just a title. It’s like…” she gesticulated for a second, “intuition, almost? I guess you could just say it’s my conscience, but it’s never wrong. It tells me what to do, and I just, I just do it. It’s what told me to message you, and it’s why I’m here, talking to you. Because it told me you need to talk to someone.” She smiled awkwardly, fidgeting with her pleated skirt.

Rantarou was astounded. If she got her title by following her conscience, then she must be seriously good, through and through. “Tell your conscience thanks from me,” he said, deciding to lighten the mood a little. “This really did help. Thank you, Akamatsu-san, I do feel a little better.”

Akamatsu beamed. “Oh, I forgot! I got you something,” she said, reaching for her backpack and digging through it for a second before pulling out a small enamel pin in the shape of a strawberry. Gently, she stuck the pin through the front of his jacket, near his heart. “I thought of you as soon as I saw this. I just knew you’d love it. If you don’t, just give it to someone else, I won’t judge. It’s the thought that counts, right?”

“Thank you, Akamatsu-san,” Rantarou said, his fingertips ghosting the strawberry. “And thank you for talking to me. It really did help clear my head.”

“That’s what I’m here for!” Akamatsu chimed, her white skirt swishing as she stood and walked to the door. “I’m off to talk to Iruma-san, but message me if you need me, okay?”

Rantarou smiled. “Same to you.”

~~~

Oddly enough, Rantarou found Chabashira in the trophy room, admiring the awards lining every wall. She jumped when she noticed him, bracing herself to either attack or defend (Rantarou couldn’t tell). “A degenerate! What have you come here for, huh? Are you here to spar? HIYAH!” Her arms moved faster than Rantarou could process, and before he could react, he was pinned to the wall, his arm twisted behind his back. “How’s that for a spar, degenerate?”

Rantarou sputtered as Chabashira pressed the side of his face into the wall. “Chabashira-san, I just wanted to —ugh— to talk to you, I got you a gift—”

“A gift? A gift??” Chabashira released Rantarou with a mocking laugh. “A degenerate like you would only give Tenko a gift if you were trying to get in her pants! She refuses to accept such a gift!”

Despite her protests, Rantarou took a figurine out of his pocket. “I honestly just thought you’d like this. I wouldn’t try to get in your pants, Chabashira-san, I know you’re not interested.”

The figurine caught Chabashira off guard, and she snatched it out of Rantarou’s hands without question. It was official merchandise for a TV show Rantarou was never really interested in, but featured cute magical girls in witches hats. Chabashira marvelled over the figurine for a second. She seemed to be salivating. “…Tenko will accept this, but don’t get used to it! And don’t expect her to apologise for winning the spar, either!”

Rantarou smiled, finding Chabashira’s mannerisms endearing. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Do you spar often?”

She perked up, nodding. “Of course Tenko spars often! How else could she show off to cute girls? Sometimes, when she’s lucky,” her voice lowered to a whisper, “a girl will spar with her. It doesn’t happen often, but she cherishes it when it does!” She blushed deeply, giggling quietly to herself.

“Have you asked Harukawa-san to spar with you?” Rantarou asked, sitting near the door. He figured he wouldn’t need to talk much with Chabashira in the room, which he didn’t mind.

Chabashira gasped, green eyes wide. “Do you think she would? Tenko admires Harukawa-san’s style. She’s never seen anyone quite like her.” Rantarou couldn’t deny that; Harukawa’s style had an edge to it that made her stand out, for better or for worse. He could spot her spiked side shave from a mile away. “Tenko would love to spar her… She asked Yumeno-san before, but she said she was too tired.”

“Yumeno-san does seem like she gets tired pretty easily.” If it were anyone else, Rantarou might make a further comment on Yumeno, if only to start a conversation, but instinct told him to avoid the topic as much as possible. One wrong word could set Chabashira off, thinking he was competing for Yumeno’s attention. 

“She does! Every time I ask her to hang out, she says she’s too tired! She really should sleep better,” Chabashira said, putting her finger to her chin in concentration. “Maybe I should tell her that… Would that be too forward? Tenko just wants to make sure Yumeno-san is healthy and okay!”

Rantarou smiled. “That wouldn’t be too forward. I’m sure she’d appreciate your concern, Chabashira-san.”

Chabashira nodded, her twin braids flopping wildly. “You’re right! I’ll tell her next time I see her. Thank you, A--”

At that moment, a bloodcurdling scream rang through the air, shattering the thin veil of security Rantarou had built.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohohoho, what have we here


	4. Chapter 1, Daily Life 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Accusations, betrayal, insomnia and knives.

Akamatsu lay unconscious in an infirmary bed, surrounded by blood and charred, flaking skin. The dread in the air was palpable. Rantarou didn’t want to believe what could have happened, but the idea was still there, an afterimage of Monokuma’s gnashing teeth in the back of his mind. Saihara knelt next to her bed, shoulders trembling in silent sobs.

“She’s stable,” Toujou said, her voice low but firm, “but the damage is likely irreparable. Luckily, by the time she wakes up, the pain should have subsided, as her nerves have likely been killed by now.”

Everyone in the room shared an uncomfortable glance.

The door slammed open, causing Momota to jump. Harukawa stood in the doorway, daggers in her eyes. “What happened?” she asked, her voice low, controlled. Her glare landed on Shirogane, and before anyone could speak, Harukawa grabbed her neck and left wrist, pinning her to the wall. “What the hell did you do?”

Shirogane’s only answer was a drawn-out, strangled noise. Oddly enough, she didn’t put up much of a fight.

With calculated movements, Rantarou stepped towards Harukawa. “Harukawa-san, let her go. It won’t do any good. She’ll explain if you let her, yeah?” His words were steady, the hot coal between his ribs only barely concealed.

Wordlessly, Harukawa released Shirogane, turning towards Akamatsu’s bed. Shirogane heaved, clutching her throat with one hand. In any other situation, Rantarou may have felt sorry for her, but the tension under his skin couldn’t be ignored.

“I’m sorry,” Shirogane said once she caught her breath. “It-- it really was self defense, honest--”

“That’s bullshit! You had no reason to hurt Akamatsu and you know it!” Momota growled, his fists clenching and unclenching periodically.

“Tenko has to agree with the degenerate, unfortunately. Akamatsu-san wouldn’t hurt a fly, ever! What did you really do, Shirogane-san?”

The chaos was giving Rantarou a headache, but he couldn’t find it in himself to put a stop to it. Something like this would happen eventually, after all. It’s only a shame it happened to someone like Akamatsu.

Shirogane withered under everyone’s glare, but she spoke anyway. “Akamatsu-san a-asked me to follow her. She said— said she found out new information about her classmates, and she didn’t want someone t-to overhear her, so we went to the trash room. I-I shouldn't have trusted her… She-she approached me with this look, and…” she paused, breath uneven, “…I got scared, so I pushed her away from me, a-and she just…”

“…Fell onto the incinerator? Likely story,” Harukawa scoffed, her eyes never leaving Shirogane’s face.

“If I may interject,” Kiyo said, lifting a finger, “There was a switchblade found near Akamatsu-san’s body. It’s in her backpack now, if you don’t believe me. Shirogane-san appears to be telling the truth.”

Something about that made Rantarou’s gut stir. If Shirogane wasn’t lying, what could have spurred the Ultimate Moral Compass to approach her with a blade? Rantarou’s encounters with Akamatsu had been pleasant, enlightening, and an alliance had quickly blossomed between them. And yet, there was still a twisted side to her, no matter how well-concealed. 

Rantarou was a fool for trusting so easily.

Sensing the building tension, Toujou cleared her throat. “Akamatsu-san needs rest, and so do all of you. Why don’t we give her space? I’ll stay here with her, and the rest of you can sleep. It is late, after all.”

Everything in Rantarou’s body screamed for him to stay with Akamatsu, but Toujou’s voice was laced with something he couldn’t quite place, and his legs carried him out of the room almost on their own. Someone tapped his shoulder as he stepped outside, matching his footsteps with practiced ease.

“What is your opinion on this situation?” Kiyo asked, folding his arms behind his back.

Defensively, Rantarou smiled. “Why are you asking me?”

“You are close to Akamatsu-san, yes? Do you believe Shirogane-san, or do you trust Akamatsu-san?” His synthetic voice was surprisingly level, given the situation. “I am always learning about humanity, the inner workings of the human mind. I am curious on your view of what is happening.”

They stopped in front of Rantarou’s dorm, and he took his key out of his jacket. He chose his words carefully, still shaken. “To be completely honest, I don’t really know how to feel. Shirogane-san didn’t seem to be lying, but…” He paused to open his door, “Akamatsu-san doesn’t seem the type to attempt murder, especially in cold blood. It’s just not in her character.” Rantarou held the door for Kiyo, who tipped his hat in thanks.

“So you trust Akamatsu-san?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“That’s what it sounds like.”

“How did you know I’ve talked to Akamatsu-san?” Rantarou asked in an attempt to change the subject.

Kiyo’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t push. “She mentioned you when she talked to me. Well, I mentioned you, I suppose… We were having a conversation about trust. Now that I mention it, it was very similar to the one we are having right now.” A clink of metal-on-metal as Kiyo’s bandaged hands gripped his shoulders. “She wanted to know if a robot such as myself has the capacity of blind faith. And, if so, in whom I have decided to believe.”

That caught Rantarou off guard. Was Kiyo, of all people, implying he trusts him? He glanced up and down the robot, but nothing in his body language (if you could call it that) implied any wariness. He had entered Rantarou’s dorm without a second thought and didn’t flinch when he shut his door. Did he just not fully grasp the situation, or did Rantarou truly have an ally in this game?

“Akamatsu-san said something else that caught my attention,” Kiyo continued, bringing him out of his thoughts. “She claims she has an intuition. The reason she approached me was because she could feel my unrest.”

“That’s why she came to me too. She said she sensed I needed to talk to someone,” Rantarou said, beginning to realize what Kiyo was implying. “You think her intuition has something to do with what happened between her and Shirogane-san?”

Kiyo tipped his head. “I believe it is a possibility. In another life, she may have gone through with it to become the first Blackened. Who knows?” Rantarou couldn’t imagine the kind-hearted Akamatsu committing murder for any reason, even if it was to help them escape, but the thought still sent a shiver up his spine. Somehow, Kiyo noticed. “My apologies. I do not mean to cause discord,” he backtracked, putting his hand to the veil on his face.

A practiced smile crossed Rantarou’s face. “No, no, you’re right. We can’t know for sure until she wakes up. I’m sure she’ll tell us the truth. And if she doesn’t, I have a feeling we’ll know.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s kinda late, isn’t it? Do you need to sleep or anything? Sorry, I don’t really know how you, uh… work,” he rambled.

If Kiyo was offended, he didn’t show it. “I might as well charge tonight. I appreciate you going out of your way to talk to me, Amami-kun. Sleep well,” he said, tipping his hat. Something like a smile crossed his eyes as he left the room, and Rantarou couldn’t help but smile back. 

Could he trust Kiyo? He wasn’t sure, but knowing Kiyo trusted him gave him a sliver of hope, as fragile as it may be.

~~~

Rantarou couldn’t sleep.

He probably should have expected that, since he had slept for over a day and proceeded to pass out immediately after meeting his fellow prisoners. Intrusive thoughts led his mind down gruesome rabbit trails every time he allowed his mind to wander, and every time he shut his eyes, the memory of Akamatsu’s charred, bandaged face rose to the surface. 

At home, when Rantarou couldn’t sleep, he would walk up and down his street until whatever was bothering him had left his mind. The cool night air calmed his senses like nothing else could. 

The cool night air, however, wasn’t available in the academy. As he explored his new prison, the difference was nearly palpable; the atmosphere had a thick, artificial feel to it, as if it had been filtered hundreds of times. Rantarou had been out of his room for about an hour, and he still hadn’t gotten used to it. He had pried at the gate in front of the stairs, picked at the carpet, prodded anything that seemed suspicious, and examined every inch of every room he could enter.

Every room except the storage room.

He had avoided the storage room on purpose. It was filled wall to wall with a maze of shelves, carts, and tables. Easy to hide in, easy to ambush an unsuspecting person. He didn’t want to take the chance. 

And yet, his legs carried him to the storage room of their own accord. Curiosity is a vicious motivator. 

Outside the swinging doors, he spotted the person he wanted to meet least of all. Oh, goody.

“Hey, Amami-chan! Didn’t expect you to be up so soon!” Ouma said, his voice far louder than it should have been, considering the hour.

“Ah, yeah, couldn’t sleep. What are you doing up?” Rantarou said, voice in a hush, hoping Ouma would take the hint. 

He didn’t. Purple eyes rolled so hard Rantarou feared he had pulled a muscle. “‘Couldn’t sleep’? A likely story, Amami-chan. You can just tell me you were coming here for a weapon. It’s what I was doing, after all!”

Rantarou pushed the swinging door open, intrigued. “They keep weapons in here?”

“Oh, yeah, lots of ‘em!” Ouma held out his hands, beginning to count on his fingers. “Knives, swords, morningstars, shurikens, guns, lances, pretty much anything you can think of. Here, I’ll show you.” He bounded past all the shelves and cabinets with the agility of a deer, ending up by the wall farthest from the door. Rantarou could barely keep up. “Ta-da!”

The wall had an incredibly ominous energy. Then again, anything covered in blades sharp enough to cut metal would be ominous. Ouma, however, either didn’t get the same feeling or just didn’t care. He took weapons from the wall at random, feeling the weight in his hands. “Ooh, there’s a knife set here. It holds… twenty knives! And one of them is gone! Wow! The mystery unravels, huh?”

Rantarou examined the knife set. Each blade was slightly different, but they were all deadly sharp, some even serrated. They looked more like hunting knives than a weapon of defense. If one was missing, then… 

“Looks like someone has a trick up their sleeve,” Ouma said, his voice a little softer than before, expression unreadable.

Rantarou’s stomach dropped.

“Hey, cheer up, Amami-chan! At least we’ll be prepared when it happens.” Ouma’s smile widened a little unnaturally and he put his hands behind his head, feigning nonchalance. 

“That’s true. We should probably get weapons just in case, yeah? It’s not like we can search everyone to find it. That would cause a rift. All we can do is defend ourselves if it happens,” Rantarou said, already eyeing the wall again. The blades glinted menacingly, and he shuddered.

“Ooh, scary! Never thought a himbo like you would know your way around weapons. I half expected you to just pick a pocket knife and leave.”

“A pocket knife would be useless against the knife that was stolen.”

Ouma’s expression turned to something like morbid curiosity. “And how do you know that, Amami-chan?”

Rantarou shut him down with a smile. “I don’t believe that’s your business, Ouma-kun.” Ouma huffed, but didn’t protest.

A weapon caught his eye; a machete with a hideous neon handle and a curved blade not sharp enough to kill, but just large enough to scare off a potential attacker. He felt the weight in his hands and swung it once. “This works, I guess.”

Ouma’s head tilted like a feline’s, eyes narrowing. “And how do I know you aren’t planning to kill someone with that?”

Mirroring Ouma, Rantarou tilted his head. “You’re a clairvoyant. Just read my mind.” 

“Oh, I have been. You’re tooootally gonna kill someone. I’ve known since I saw you in the hallway,” Ouma giggled, weighing an absurd amount of knives in his hands. “So, who’s it gonna be? Akamatsu-chan’s an easy target now, since no one can stay in the infirmary with her overnight. Ooh, or maybe it’s the robot! Does he have a dick?”

“Ah—“ Caught off guard, Rantarou fumbled with his machete. “I don’t know. How would I know that?”

Ouma selected one of the many knives in his pile — a forester switchblade with a serrated blade — and scattered the rest on the ground. “He was in your dorm for an awful long time. I only assumed the obvious. Our dorms are soundproof, after all…”

The implication caused a blush to spread across Rantarou’s face. “We talked about Akamatsu-san, actually,” he said in an attempt to deflect the topic. Ouma’s eyebrow raised as he pocketed his new weapon. “Our opinions and such. Who we trust, and who we don’t.”

Trust. The word felt heavy in his mouth, knowing what Akamatsu had done. Even the most saccharine happy-go-luckies can be twisted, the skeletons in their closets hide only for so long. Who should stay at arms-length, and who should be shunned entirely?

Ouma didn’t seem to share the conflict. He scoffed at the word “trust”, quietly enough that Rantarou could have mistaken it for a sharp intake of breath or a cough. “You seem tired, Amami-chan. Get some rest. Don’t go killing anyone with that machete, or I’ll use my mind powers to cook your brains into an omelette!” With a flourish, the clairvoyant turned on his heels and bounded towards the door with the grace of a mountain goat.

Was the walk back to Rantarou’s dorm darker than before, or was his mind playing tricks on him? Did the shadows flicker that intensely? Unbidden, a memory of home rose to the surface, the lights lining his street unnaturally bright, causing shadows to stretch into beastly things.

The machete felt much heavier in his hand.

He stared into the eyes of his reflection. The bathroom was cramped, but it brought a certain sense of safety that the living area did not bring. Shaking hands splashed cold water against his face, in his bleary eyes, and he bit his piercing from the inside of his mouth.

He really needed to sleep better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took so long please forgive

**Author's Note:**

> this is basically a rewrite of the entirety of danganronpa (when i say entirety, i mean the 3 main games and udg). if i ever finish this, i may write the other games.


End file.
